Keith distributed a copy of the news sheet to every member of his class at the beginning of the final lesson that afternoon, completing the task only moments before the geography master entered the room. He was already planning a bumper edition for the following week if the exercise turned out to be a success.
When Keith appeared in the changing room a few minutes before five the following afternoon, he found a queue had already formed outside his locker. He quickly unbolted the tin door and tugged the boxes out onto the floor. Long before the hour was up, he had sold out of his entire stock. A mark-up of at least 25 percent on most items showed him a clear profit of just over a pound.
Only Desmond Motson, who had stood in a corner watching the money changing hands, grumbled about Townsend’s extortionate prices. The young entrepreneur simply told him, ‘You have a choice. You can join the queue or wait till Friday.’ Motson had stalked out of the changing room, muttering veiled threats under his breath.
On Friday afternoon Keith was back at the front of the tuck shop queue and, having made a note of which items had sold out first, purchased his new stock accordingly.
When Mr. Clarke was informed that Townsend had spent £4 10s. on tuck that Friday, he admitted to being puzzled, and decided to have a word with the headmaster.
That Saturday afternoon Keith didn’t go to the racecourse, using the time to print up a hundred pages of the second edition of his sales sheet, which he distributed the following Monday — not only to his own classmates, but also to those in the two forms below him.
On Tuesday morning, during a lesson on British History 1815–1867, he calculated on the back of a copy of the 1832 Reform Bill that at this rate it would take him only another three weeks to raise the £10 he needed to test Lucky Joe’s infallible system.
It was in a Latin lesson on Wednesday afternoon that Keith’s own infallible system began to falter. The headmaster entered the classroom unannounced, and asked Townsend to join him in the corridor immediately. ‘And bring your locker key with you,’ he added ominously. As they marched silently down the long gray corridor Mr. Jessop presented him with a single sheet of paper. Keith studied the list he could have recited far more fluently than any of the tables in Kennedy’s Latin Primer. ‘Minties 8d, Chips 4d, Cherry Ripes 4d, Marchants’ Lemonade one shilling. Be outside Locker 19 in the senior changing room on Thursday at five o’clock sharp. Our slogan is “First come, first served.”’
Keith managed to keep a straight face as he was frog-marched down the corridor.
When they entered the changing room, Keith found his housemaster and the sports master already stationed by his locker.
‘Unlock the door, Townsend,’ was all the headmaster said.
Keith placed the little key in the lock and turned it slowly. He pulled open the door and the four of them peered inside. Mr. Jessop was surprised to discover that there was nothing to be seen other than a cricket bat, a pair of old pads, and a crumpled white shirt that looked as if it hadn’t been worn for several weeks.
The headmaster looked angry, his housemaster puzzled, and the sports master embarrassed.
‘Could it be that you’ve got the wrong boy?’ asked Keith, with an air of injured innocence.
‘Lock the door and return to your class immediately, Townsend,’ said the headmaster. Keith obeyed with an insolent nod of the head and strolled slowly back down the corridor.
Once he was seated at his desk, Keith realized that he had to decide on which course of action to take. Should he rescue his wares and save his investment, or drop a hint as to where the tuck might be found and settle an old score once and for all?
Desmond Motson turned round to stare at him. He looked surprised and disappointed to find Townsend back in his place.
Keith gave him a huge smile, and immediately knew which of the two options he should take.
5
The Times
9 March 1936
German Troops in the Rhineland
It was not until after the Germans had remilitarised the Rhineland that Lubji first heard the name of Adolf Hitler.
His mother winced when she read about the Führer’s exploits in the rabbi’s weekly paper. As she finished each page she handed it on to her eldest son. She stopped only when it became too dark for her to see the words. Lubji was able to go on reading for a few more minutes.
‘Will we all have to wear a yellow star if Hitler crosses our border?’ he asked.
Zelta pretended to have fallen asleep.
For some time his mother had been unable to hide from the rest of her family the fact that Lubji had become her favorite — even though she suspected that he was responsible for the disappearance of her precious brooch — and she had watched with pride as he grew into a tall, handsome youth. But she remained adamant that despite his success as a trader, from which she acknowledged the whole family had benefited, he was still destined to be a rabbi. She might have wasted her life, but she was determined that Lubji wouldn’t waste his.
For the past six years Lubji had spent each morning being tutored by her uncle in the house on the hill. He was released at midday so that he could return to the market, where he had recently purchased his own stall. A few weeks after his bar mitzvah the old rabbi had handed Lubji’s mother the letter informing him that Lubji had been awarded a scholarship to the academy in Ostrava. It was the happiest day of Zelta’s life. She knew her son was clever, perhaps exceptional, but she also realized that such an offer could only have been secured by her uncle’s reputation.
When Lubji was first told the news of his scholarship, he tried not to show his dismay. Although he was only allowed to go to the market in the afternoon, he was already making enough money to have provided every member of the family with a pair of shoes and two meals a day. He wanted to explain to his mother that there was no point in being a rabbi if all you really wanted to do was to build a shop on the vacant plot next to Mr. Lekski’s.
Mr. Lekski shut the shop and took the day off to drive the young scholar to the academy, and on the long journey to Ostrava he told him that he hoped he would take over his shop once he had completed his studies. Lubji wanted to return home immediately, and it was only after considerable persuasion that he picked up his little leather bag — the last barter he had made the previous day — and passed under the massive stone archway that led to the academy. If Mr. Lekski hadn’t added that he wouldn’t consider taking Lubji on unless he completed his five years at the academy, he would have jumped back into the car.
It wasn’t long before Lubji discovered that there were no other children at the academy who had come from such a humble background as himself. Several of his classmates made it clear, directly or indirectly, that he was not the sort of person they had expected to mix with. As the weeks passed, he also discovered that the skills he had picked up as a market trader were of little use in such an establishment — though even the most prejudiced could not deny that he had a natural flair for languages. And certainly long hours, little sleep, and rigorous discipline held no fears for the boy from Douski.
At the end of his first year at Ostrava, Lubji finished in the upper half of his class in most subjects. He was top in mathematics and third in Hungarian, which was now his second language. But even the principal of the academy could not fail to notice that the gifted child had few friends, and had become something of a loner. He was relieved at least that no one bullied the young ruffian — the only boy who ever tried had ended up in the sanatorium.
When Lubji returned to Douski, he was surprised to find how small the town was, just how impoverished his family were, and how much they had grown to depend on him.